


One Point of Contact

by WillowGrove



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Time, Frottage, I'm a kinky bastard after all, M/M, hard core fumbling, how does this sound so tame?, staring at hardening cocks, unexpected nakedness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-08-19 14:52:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8212994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WillowGrove/pseuds/WillowGrove
Summary: John did not look down. He did not need to look down, he told himself firmly. He kept his eyes sternly fixed on the Adam's apple of his friend and wished that the situation might somehow dissolve without his express participation. Because quite frankly at the moment he was completely unable to function, all his available energy being channelled into the courageous enterprise of Not Getting Hard.





	

 

John had already brushed his teeth and had just chucked his pants and T-shirt in the laundry bin, about to step in the shower when the bathroom door creaked.

Of course John could have just sneaked quickly behind the shower curtain or even remained facing the wall, but the sudden noise and the sudden presence of someone else in a room he'd thought empty and private startled him and his first instinct was to turn around in a flash and face the possible threat.

Sherlock, who obviously was the insensitive intruder, had already stepped in and taken the one long stride needed to reach the top shelf of the cabinet just behind John, where he kept his hair products.

“Ah, John, I'm sorry, I didn't realize...”

Because yes, he obviously had not realized John was there and ready for a shower. Nor had he realized exactly how close they'd ended as he started to reach up, only to falter as he perceived the closeness of the rather rapidly reddening face of his flatmate.

“... that you were here.”

The end of Sherlock's statement dragged a bit as he lowered his gaze in embarrassment. Unfortunately this did not help him with his flustered condition as he first now realized John's state of dress. Or undress.

John for his part was frozen in mixed shock and terror. Despite having been in the army and shared more community showers than he could count he really did not much appreciate being naked around other people. It was not that he was self-conscious, he just much rather kept that sort of thing private for the more intimate occasions.

This right here now seemed much too much intimate for his liking. They were standing only two palm's breadths away from each other. Sherlock was wearing one of his dressing gowns, the blue one. Only his dressing gown. And it was not tied. The gown had opened slightly as Sherlock had started reaching up and was now exposing a pale sliver of a smooth chest.

John did not look down. He did not need to look down, he told himself firmly. He kept his eyes sternly fixed on the Adam's apple of his friend and wished that the situation might somehow dissolve without his express participation. Because quite frankly at the moment he was completely unable to function, all his available energy being channelled into the courageous enterprise of Not Getting Hard.

For this reason he did not look up either, because _Christ, Sherlock's eyes_. He did not, therefore, see how those especial eyes on their part opened wide and then, slowly, inevitably travelled down, down John's face, down his chest and down again.

“John...”

That gasp was almost breathless and John could see the Adam's apple he was still staring bobbing slightly. A kind of a sound erupted from somewhere in his own throat because there were things he could deal with and then there were things like Sherlock's neck and swallowing and proximity, which perhaps each on their own might work quite well but at this exact moment, combined, did unfortunate things to his self restraint. He was sure he was never going to hear the end of this and so he took a deep breath in and hung his head in preparation to standing his ground against the onslaught. But then he was looking down too.

“John, I did not know you...”

His cock was indeed swelling. Not much but certainly noticeable enough for the hawk eyed detective in front of him. He could practically feel Sherlock's gaze on his cock, scrutinizing, evaluating, gathering evidence. Deducing. God, why did that send his lower belly into such spirals of sheer want.

As he felt the telltale tug deep in his belly and a horrible dread crawling up his spine causing nervous spit to pool in his mouth, he let his gaze start sweeping up again. In perfect timing to see the pale exquisite long delicate gorgeous cock of his flatmate twitch as well.

John could not look back up after all. He watched enthralled as Sherlock's cock started filling and his own cock jumped in immediate reply, so close. Sherlock's robe was open all the way down and while the opening was not large it nevertheless left nothing to be guessed. His long penis nestled in a bed of almost black curly pubic hair – figured the bastard had thick luscious hair down there too – and his balls were even and inviting and the whole parcel was simply breathtaking.

They were both looking down now, unable to tear their eyes away, transfixed gazing at this unprecedented scene playing out in front of them. John's cock had had a head start but Sherlock's was rapidly gaining ground.

Randomly, John found himself thinking he had never before been in a room with two hard penises, at least not naked ones, and he thought how marvellous it was that he could have this experience with the man he had been lusting over for the past six months.

“John, I didn't know...”

Sherlock seemed to have been stuck in one sentence but John did not much care as Sherlock's cock did not seem to have any problem proceeding. His stomach felt like it had dropped and scurried away ages ago and in stead there was just a hollow pit with a roaring waterfall of desire and an endless whirlpool of dizzy anxiety.

The two cocks were mercilessly caught in a feedback loop where one growing made the other twitch and the other twitching made the other one swell ever more and then, oh dear god, was the other one leaking a bit and of course the other one surged up in sympathy.

They were standing very close. As they looked, unable to move a muscle, it quickly became apparent that something was imminent. Sherlock had probably noticed it before John did, having done his calculations of lengths and prospective growths and his own size and all the angles in question. But as the events escalated John's eyes widened and his breathing became ragged and yes, oh god yes, they were standing close enough to tough.

Sherlock made a sound that did resemble a “John” but neither of them could be quite certain of it. The sound John made was unmistakably his breathing; hoarse, scratching and stumbling. They were both dizzy and trembling.

You have to understand, this all happened quite quickly. In one second they knew the heads of their cocks would inevitably – unerringly – unmistakably touch, in another second they were vibrating with the knowledge of it and on the third it happened.

Just the tips of their cocks meeting, one single point of contact between them. Soft, moist, delicate, unbearably exquisite.

John's known world exploded around him into tiny immaterial bits as his now newly naked and vulnerable consciousness flooded with the allencompassing awareness of Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock. Sherlock made a high keening sound and it sounded awful, like he was perhaps dying, but John knew he had to be alive still, because the whole world was full of his heartbeat.

It took just a second to register for them both. And then. Grabbing, gasping, reckless, fast, reaching, staggering, pushing, tugging, desperate, crushing, tight, so tight against each other that it was painful and uncomfortable and not at all conducive for anything they really wanted, but they both just. Had. To get. Closer.

Then John was thrusting and shoving and slamming Sherlock against the sink. Sherlock's backside landed against the edge and he let out an agonized yell but kept devouring John's mouth all the same, his tongue at least two thirds in and exploring every crevasse.

They faltered to the right and John grabbed the shower curtain which came down with a magnificent screech and for a while their feet got tangled in the pooling curtain and John cursed and Sherlock whined but then they were on track again. They were naked and ready, Sherlock's dressing gown was still hanging on one of his arms but it did not much hinder them.

Sherlock growled something like “bedroom” while John was busy suckling and licking and then biting hard on his trapezius. But as Sherlock crowded John towards the bathroom door, it was on the way and banged close behind them and they ended up smashed against the door, Sherlock's body grinding against John's, his hands franticly travelling over John's skin wherever he could find a place to reach. John's hands covered Sherlock's buttocks, squeezing and gripping and pulling close and down and then, he tilted his own hips slightly up, and there. Finally there was decent contact again, their groins together, grinding, their cocks side by side, touching again, their whole lengths flushed against each other and it was heaven.

They became frantic, grinding, but just as desperate to keep the position, not to loose this prodigious touch ever again. So their hips jerked in small furious stutters only, their bellies flushed together cradling the miracle of their hard cocks already leaking from the friction.

Their breaths came in small gasps and they could not kiss. All of their concentration had now zeroed into the one and only important point, the one important point of contact. Sherlock was leaning against John, his arms trembling against the door, he was making a keening sound and his eyes were watering. John was growling and biting his lower lip in a convulsive lock and his hands were squishing Sherlock's butt cheeks hard, keeping him close in a vice like grip.

Had a bathroom ghost hovered above them just then, they certainly would have made a bizarre scene. Flush against each other, muscles contracting and quivering, tiny jerks of their hips and then both of them freezing at the exact same moment. The sandy haired man's face in an angry fierce grimace, his eyes squeezed close, a guttural sound of sheer power erupting from his throat. The dark curly haired man's eyes wide open but unseeing, brimming with tears that were already streaming down his flushed cheeks, his face a picture of agony and amazed revelation as he yelled the highest loudest and longest yell that bathroom had ever heard.

 


End file.
